


The Diplomatic Approach

by flaminhotcheetobeard



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Diplomacy, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, courting via emails, implied internalized homophobia and ace-phobia, schmoozing with Orlesian academics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaminhotcheetobeard/pseuds/flaminhotcheetobeard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grand game of Orlesian politics is no less nuanced in the world of academics and it may require the hand of diplomat to navigate.<br/>Diplomacy is only so useful, though, in the matters of the heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Diplomatic Approach

**Author's Note:**

> This weird lil' story is actually an AU of my AU Dragon Age headcanons in which my three Trevelyan Inquisitor's exist within the same timeline as siblings. That knowledge isn't super necessary for the enjoyment of this work which only has passing reference to the other Trevs, but I have plans to write two sequels that focus on them and their respective romances. Hopefully if you enjoy this work, you'll check out the other ones.

“Darling,” Vivienne had a manner with the endearment that made it seem much less complimentary than it would imply. “This simply cannot go on as such.”

Anton bowed his head slightly in penitence, fighting the urge he felt to slouch. He was loathe to admit it but Vivienne had a point. It had been two months since he had first begun his dissertation in earnest, gaining approval to pursue his proposed thesis on corporeal interaction with the Fade and her support as his mentor in the venture, and it was now the seventh occasion on which he had the ignominy of sitting across her desk like a chastised schoolchild. A fair comparison, he mused, given that was precisely what he was. The fact that he was a doctoral student, aiming to achieve the accreditation at a markedly young age – though not quite as young as Vivienne had been when she had been awarded with hers – and a fellow colleague at the University of Orlais did not make the situation any less humbling.

The issue was the same as it ever was. Anton could not seem to go the span of a week without offending someone of at least some importance at the University. He had ever been a prickly sort with no interest or skill in the art of socializing for gain and had previously been able to avoid it adversely affecting his studies or position in the faculty’s research department, but now it seemed a necessary evil to completing his dissertation. Unfortunately the lack of skill was ever apparent and the lack of interest compounded it into making him rather unlikable in their community of academics.

Why should an amiable reputation matter in their field, he reasoned, when the work was able to stand in advocacy of itself?

Vivienne disagreed however, as she reminded him on each visit to her grand office after she had soothed the feathers he had ruffled on whatever Orlesian peacock of an intellectual he had the misfortune of butting heads with. Her, imposing in her steely perfection, assessing him from across her large desk and him doing his damndest not to cower.

“No man is an island onto himself, my dear. Particularly when the waters he is surrounded by is infested with sharks hungry for blood. It would do you well to curry favour with your peers rather than make enemies of them.”

Anton’s fingernails dug into his palms for how tightly his hands were clenched. “It should not matter. I do not need the help of these people; you may call them sharks, Madame de Fer, but we both know they are lemmings.”

She granted him a short airy laugh. “Perhaps in intellect, but in the handling of the politics of academia, you are the defenseless one and they the predators.” She raised a single elegantly poised finger at him to stop him from arguing further. “Now, we may debate this to no end, but you cannot ignore the difficulties you have faced in acquiring the research you’ve needed so far for your dissertation and you will require more still. This is not even to mention that you must prove your thesis to a jury of peers, the number of those which you have alienated is ever increasing.” She sighed, a gesture that she managed to still express as refined. “This need not be such a mountainous task, Monsieur Trevelyan. Make concessions, stop being so unbending in your stance, curb your tongue, and you will find doors open to you as they never have before.”

He grit his teeth and muttered bitterly, “I think I would prefer the mountain.”

“That as it may be, you are running the risk of unfulfilling your ambitions that you have worked so hard for and it will be a hard pill for you to swallow if it is these social niceties that you dismiss as irrelevant that rob you of achieving all that you set out to.”

“I,” he faltered, his voice was smaller now, thoroughly chastened. “I did not intend to cause offence this time. I promise, Madame.” He could feel the heat rising up to his ears with shame. “I was… indelicate in my approach I believe. My mind, so accustomed to observing and identifying the logical, does not seem to grasp the finer points of personal interaction.”

“Indeed, so I propose you take on the same strategy you would to any other endeavor and study it. There is a seminar I strongly encourage you to attend held at the University West Oratorium on the topic of diplomacy. The speaker is an acquaintance of mine and very gifted in her field. There is much you could learn from her if you are willing to accept that this is necessary for you success at the University. I cannot save you for every gaffe you make and you will soon find that your own talents may not be merit enough.”

Anton nodded, taking in her pronouncement. His reluctance was outweighed by the prospect of failing in the only area he had ever excelled. Academia had been his home for so long, the tomes of the library his friends ever since he had displayed an aptitude for his education and had been pressed into an accelerated course of learning. As such he copied down the seminar’s scheduled time and location and vowed to absorb the lessons taught there.

He could not fail at this. It was all that he had.

 ~

“It is important to note that we all carry own interests in negotiations and that in politics every interaction may be considered a negotiation or the prelude to one. And so to successfully navigate the negotiations we must consider what ground it is that our party hopes to gain and that which we are able and willing to lose. Understanding what motivates another will take you far in earning their support and influence.”

From his seat in the front row of the oration theatre, Anton dutifully transcribed the lecturer’s words down into his notebook with his typical meticulous, though cramped, cursive. His respect for his mentor Madame Vivienne would demand he do so regardless, though he was pleasantly surprised to find the lecture constructive and took notes not only to make good on Vivienne’s instruction. He supposed it was in the speaker’s best interest of her field to be able to deliver an address as competently as she did and Mademoiselle Josephine Montilyet was certainly a diplomat well-deserving of the title. She spoke eloquently and engagingly, but with a succinctness that made each phrase heavy with knowledge. It definitively separated her from the typical Orlesian crowd, who always felt the need to fill the air with empty exaltations devoid of meaning, much more so than her lilting Antivan accent ever would.

He could only hope to be able to execute the strategies she discussed. It all seemed straightforward enough when laid out before him as a lesson; however, it was always in the critical instance of application that he failed. He wondered if Mademoiselle Montilyet would be able to understand that sentiment. Given that she was skillful enough to have her time on request all around Thedas as consult, he doubted it.

Her voice carried on, drawing him out of his brief reverie, and Anton reprimanded himself for losing focus on the thread of the lecture.

“If I may have a volunteer, I will demonstrate how one may use light conversation to broker a connection and assess the potential value of that connection.”

The class appeared unmoved and for the first time Anton studied his fellow attendees at the seminar. Most appeared to be younger and disinterested in the prospect of being made spectacle of by the speaker, pointedly not making eye contact with her.

The moment stretched into one of discomfort and against his better judgement, Anton found himself raising his hand to offer his assistance. It could be useful for my education, he reasoned, but knew he was more largely swayed by the respect he now held for Mademoiselle Montilyet as a lecturer and his desire to have her seminar continue on with the same aplomb.

“Ah, thank you, Monsieur,” she waved him up to stand beside her on the raised stage. “Please join me. I promise it will be nothing painful; just some conversation.”

Anton could not fully suppress his grimace which she mercifully laughed at.

“Well perhaps only a little painful, but please relax. How are you enjoying my talk thus far? Feel free to be candid.”

“I am told candidness is often my detriment, Mademoiselle,” he replied a little grimly to which Mademoiselle Montilyet laughed at again, mockery not present. “I am finding this seminar most illuminating, however. I do not regret attending.”

“Ah, I am glad to hear that. I confess it is daunting to stand here speaking to sea of bowed heads without reassurance that my message is in fact speaking to them.” She offered warm smile to him. “Regret is a strong sentiment, however. You must be admirably busy to think in terms of each hour wasted is worthy of a word of such weight.”

His cheeks coloured a little at that, though it did not seem to be said with any intention of rebuke. “Busy or not, I often think in those terms.” Then amended, “though I confess I am quite occupied with my research; whether it is admirable is a matter of opinion.”

“Industrious individuals shall always be admirable to me, Monsieur.” She turned now to address the class more directly. “Now through our discourse I was able to discover that our industrious volunteer is motivated by the research he pursues and values time unwasted. These facts were obtained through small talk that did not probe too deeply or slip into offense and I can put them to use in how I may confer with him in the future. I would do well to be conscious of his time and speak in a manner of brevity that did not waste it. I could also seek to gain his gratitude by means of offering relevant assistance on his research pursuits that he has stated to be of import to him.”

Anton worked to keep his face neutral at her assessment, though he could tell the colour on his cheeks had now risen to the tips of his ears. He gave a slight bow to her at the end of her demonstration and retook his seat hastily.

That had been revealing, though not as revealing as it could have been, he realized. Mademoiselle Montilyet had extracted enough information from him to prove a point and not to lay bare his entire psyche to an audience, though he had no doubt she could if she so desired. She could charm a fish from water. Admirable was the flattery she had offered him, had even restated it when he attempted to downplay his worth. It was likely to gain his favour and encourage him into sharing more with her… though it had closed the conversation, not opened it so that theory was shaky at best.

He shook his head slightly and set his attention back to the continued lesson.

 ~

Anton was closing her briefcase when he saw Mademoiselle Montilyet approach him. Most of the students had hurried out of the theatre the instant she had called the seminar to a close, so they were relatively alone, aside for the stragglers that were soon exiting as well.

“Thank you for participating in my little demonstration today. Getting volunteers is always a challenging affair. I believe you are not a student here, however.” She looked him in the eyes, questioning.

“I am in a manner of speaking. I am completing a doctorate at the University and am employed here as an aide.”

“I admire your pursuit of knowledge, Monsieur…?”

“Anton Trevelyan,” he filled in automatically, offering her a polite half-bow.

“Trevelyan?” Anton inwardly groaned at how her eyes lit up upon making the mental connection. “As in Briony Trevelyan?”

“She is my sister, yes,” he replied, hoping that his lackluster reply might end the topic.

“Ah, I thought so!” Mademoiselle Montilyet clapped her hands together once in excitement at his confirmation. “I met your sister some time ago when I was doing some consultation work for her charity program.

“I am a little embarrassed it took me so long to recognize you,” she confessed with a small laugh. “There is a rather strong family resemblance after all.”

“I suppose there is. We are twins.” Anton scratched the back of neck awkwardly. At least she hadn’t made the less than favourable comparison of our personalities.

“Indeed.” She smiled sweetly. “Though I only wish Briony listened as attentively to my lectures as you appear to.”

He could feel the flush return in full, across his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. “Ah, yes, well” Anton coughed, trying to collect his thoughts. “Your teachings are more in need in my case. I fear I lack Briony’s more… endearing enthusiasm when it comes to making an impression. My tendency to speak my mind without embellishment is often at an odds with the Orlesian culture. It’s been rather strongly suggested to me by my colleagues and mentor that I correct this if I hope to achieve a lasting position at the University.”

“Hm, the game of academia is certainly a difficult one to navigate,” Mademoiselle Montilyet nodded “Though do not sell yourself short, Monsieur Trevelyan. There is definitely something to be said for one with such steadfast and unwavering focus as you. That kind of resolve unites a group into a force to be reckoned with.” She inclined her head slightly and met his eyes, assessing him then laughed again. “Well, perhaps also a little social nicety and favour couriering to get you started, but it’s hard to get anywhere without that necessary evil.”

“They have never been my strong suit, I confess, but I will aim to follow through on your advice, Mademoiselle Montilyet. You are the expert here and have my great respect.”

“And you say you are not a natural flatterer. What is the nature of your studies, if I may ask?”

“I, ah, am seeking to theorize on the plausibility of physically interacting with the Fade.”

“Like the Tevinter Magisters in the legends of the Blight?” Her tone was not the reproving shock we usually encountered when explaining his area of research, just curiosity.

“Yes, though rooted in truth, rather than sensationalism. I am attempting to discover the truth of what barrier separates us from the fade and why it is wholly inaccessible to others. There are even considerable implications in ancient Elven literature that this barrier has not always been in place, though these writings are scarce and may be interpreted to a different meaning.”

“Fascinating,” she pronounced it and it even sounded genuine.

“I thank you for saying so. I realize it is not a field that interests or delights many.” He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to take her praise. “It’s more often that I am met with appall for studying something credited with the creation of corruption itself.”

“Ah, well such is the nature a topic so deeply entrenched in the myths of our own history. But a controversial subject need not be unpopular necessarily. It is all in how it is presented.”

“That may be my failing then. It has been an uphill battle for me to receive approval and accreditation to pursue it and now I am facing a struggle to gain access to the materials I need to complete my dissertation on the topic – a dissertation I need to complete for my studies and that will aid me in achieving a more lasting employment here.”

“Perhaps I could offer you some assistance then.” She set her purse down on a nearby desk and rifled through it. “I apologize, but I have another appointment I must get to.” She pulled a card from her purse and, replacing the bag upon her shoulder, offered the card to Anton. “Here is my contact information, should there be any counsel I can give you navigating the politics of the University.”

Anton stared at the card dumbfounded for a moment before bowing again, more deeply this time. “I appreciate that, Mademoiselle. I imagine you are quite busy enough without concerning yourself with me.”

“I would not offer unless I wished to. Besides how could I resist such a diligent student?” And with a bright smile she was gone.

Anton stared at the door she had exited through for a few seconds before turning his attention to the card she handed him. It was a simple business card with her professional phone and e-mail address, but on the back, in a graceful slated cursive, there was another e-mail address. Her personal address, Anton realized and he carefully tucked the card into his briefcase, his footsteps echoing as he left the deserted theatre.

 ~

“Stop making that dreadful face, Anton, or it may get stuck that way,” Dorian huffed. The pair had been working in relative silence in their shared office, a narrow alcove that could barely fit a desk, never mind the two men working at it.

Anton schooled his face back into his trademark stoicism before answering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dorian, but I recommend keeping your eyes upon your research if you find my face so offensive.”

“Please,” he sighed dramatically, “You’re all aglow with something and,” he waved hand in the air, “ _smiling”_ the word fell of his tongue like he found it particularly revolting.

“Slander. I never smile.”

“And that,” Dorian stabbed his pen in Anton’s direction. “ _That_ was almost a joke.”

Anton shrugged non-committedly, keeping his trained on his work.

“Listen, Anton. I do not what has happened to you lately, but I do not like it. One would almost think you’ve gained a personality.” Dorian gathered up his texts and laptop, stuffing them into his bag. “And I refuse to be subjected to it any longer. Pease do be back to normal by tomorrow.”

Dorian exited their shared office with no more than his usual “Ta!” so Anton was left alone. No longer needing to keep up the pretense of working, he minimized his dissertation notes and reopened his email. He dallied for a moment clearing his spam folders and sorting the received messages under headings of ‘Work, Invoices, Family, Research, and so on’ before finally giving and opening up the most recent message in his correspondence with Mademoiselle Montilyet.

_Monsieur Trevelyan,_

_While I appreciate your assessment of Professor Abernache as a ‘pompous, overbearing fool concerned only about the appearance his own power, rather than the actuality or execution of it,’ I do not recommend spreading this opinion of yours about. (Except to me, of course, I would feel quite bereft without your, shall we say, unique views and inability to mince words for the compliance or satiation of others.)_

_I am sympathetic to your refusal to include him to your dissertation, as I agree with your belief that he would use such an opportunity to lay full claim to the completed work without due effort. It is frustrating when those born with advantage, or in this case access to research archives, use it to ride on the coattails of others._

_In this situation, I can advise without remorse that you offer up an alternative publication for him to collaborate with you on that falls more directly within his academic field. Mind if this collaboration or publication never truly comes to fruition, that is just the way the world of academia works out sometimes, no?_

_The difficult part for you will be pitching this fiction to Abernache, as you seem to be too forthright for your own good, but that is why I suggest making the topic something more closely associated with his work. He would jump at the opportunity for something so easy for him to assume full ownership of and not even question the veracity of it._

_Thank you for asking after my trip to Antiva. I always appreciate to time to visit home and the vinyards. Not to mention replenishing my own stock of the vintages. No matter how long I have been away, the estates always feel like home to me once again._

_Still I cannot deny I miss the patisserie across from the Oratorium. The cannelés de Bordeaux truly have no comparison._

_Orlais also has the considerable draw of your company, adding that to the pastries and you will understand my eagerness to return next week._

_Until then,_

_Most sincerely,_

_Josephine Montilyet_

He had received the message late last night, though probably not quite so late by Antivan time, and had hemmed and hawed over a response all morning. His clumsiness and, as Mademoiselle Montilyet had put it, inability to mince words had him rather pushed to craft a reply to match her own elegant phrasing. It wasn’t just his gratitude towards her for offering him solutions to his various work concerns, the most recent her devious solution to handling that puffed up peacock, Abernache. In the month since their correspondence begun, Anton had developed an admiration of her extending far beyond the professional admiration he already had in spades.

He imagined all that met her could scarcely avoid being swept up in the charms of Mademoiselle Montilyet; after all it was her profession to beguile and gain favour. With so many likely half in love with her though, why on Earth she trifled with him was beyond comprehension.

Perhaps his social ineptitude was amusingly refreshing to her, given she usually dealt with those skilled at wearing a mask of diplomacy while running a bevy of schemes behind turned backs. She had called him steadfast and unwavering once. Both marks of good character with the implication she admired it.

Anton shook his head lightly and began to type,

_Mademoiselle Montilyet,_

_Your suggestion s continue to save me from hours of frustration and professional ruin. I cannot adequately express the gratitude you have from myself and from my officemate, the previous and unwilling confidant for my academia induced headaches. He even accused me of joking earlier today. Truly a novel event._

_I must wish again that I had some avenue of repayment for all that you have done for me, though I suppose I will have to settle for acquiring you a box of those beloved cannelés._

_Antiva does sound quite lovely from the picture you paint. Regrettably I have little remembrance of the scenery from my last visit. Too much time spent inside dusty archival libraries, I’m afraid. Should I have the chance to visit again, I would endeavor to visit to vinyards and see the country through your eyes. I imagine it would be quite breathtaking._

_I admit I am also eager for your return, though my confession comes without the additional draw of the Antivan wine you bring with you._

_With deep gratitude and admiration,_

_Anton Trevelyan_

He reread and edited the message for nearly an hour before chiding himself for being utterly ridiculous and then hit send. Anton sighed and returned to his work, an uncomfortable nervousness settling into his stomach.

Or at least he attempted to return to work.  It was not quite yet morning in Antiva and Mademoiselle Montilyet was a busy woman, so it was unlikely that he would be receiving a response for some hours. That didn’t stop him from refreshing his inbox every quarter hour. He reread his reply again and grew more nervous at the transparency in his regard he saw there. It felt too honest; naked and exposed on his screen, a horrible all-consuming crush on someone far too formidable for him.

Anton lowered his face into his hands; elbows braced upon the desk, and breathed in and out deeply to calm himself. He closed the e-mail browser and vowed not to look at it again that day. There was no way to take back what had already been said; a problem he was all too familiar with. Besides Mademoiselle Montilyet had too much tact to address his unwanted affections with anything less than civility. Her rejection was certain to be firm and unassailable, but without any efforts to hurt him for such a foolish preoccupation. He would aim to accept such a polite refusal with grace and take strides not to further inconvenience her with his regard, lest he damage or end their friendship.

Mind set upon this belief Anton finally resumed his work with some purpose, butterflies in his stomach quelled for the moment.

 ~

“Mmm, I can already tell dinner will be delicious,” Madamemoiselle Montilyet said on entering Anton’s apartment, corners to her mouth turned up. “Thank you for going to such lengths for me, you dear man.”

Such, lengths being preparing a home cooked meal for her in his home. Despite, his vow to keep a more professional distance and not press his romantic suit with Mademoiselle Montilyet, Anton found himself offering to cook for her after she had mentioned in e-mail that she would be going home to an empty fridge. It was purely a friendly offer he justified, a means of expressing his gratitude for all of her advice. It would be in no way inappropriate, purely platonic, though he couldn’t help showing off a little in the dish prepared, cleaning his apartment more fastidiously than usual, and dressing with a little more care than a casual meal called for.

He was being foolish he realised, but that seemed to be the way of love. It led even the most rational of people to folly.

Still he was rewarded when Mademoiselle Montilyet’s smile expanded as she took in his abode. “I would not have pictured this type of décor to be to your taste,” she said, admiring a carved Tevene mosaic.

He hummed in response as he pulled two wine glasses from a cabinet. “It was a gift from a colleague. He was of the opinion that my apartment was a little austere. Most of the trappings here are his influence actually.” Anton gestured around at the other more creative touches.

“That is quite thoughtful of him.” She handed him a bottle of wine she produced from her purse, one from the selection she brought back from Antiva, and Anton filled both glasses.

“Indeed,” he moved to stand next to Mademoiselle Montilyet, handing her a glass of wine, and gazed the mosaic with her. “It seems to be his way to give a gift with a slight insult, lest I think he cares too much for me.”

“This is your officemate, I take it? He seems rather the prickly type.” She inclined her head slightly and stared thoughtfully at the mosaic. “Impeccable taste, though.”

They stood for a moment companionably sipping their wine before Anton gestured to the table. “Shall we?”

“With pleasure,” She answered, smiling as Anton pulled her chair out for her.

He plated two portions of the meal, carrying hers over first. “Braised lamb shanks with roast root vegetables,” he said, presenting it to her. “I hope you don’t mind a distinctly Free Marcher thematic meal, Mademoiselle Montilyet. I never grew much of a taste for the Orlesian fare, far too many snails and frogs legs.”

Mademoiselle Montilyet fought the smile at the remark, correcting him, “As your diplomacy instructor I feel I must advise you to avoid disparaging Orlesian cuisine. They are quite touchy about these things.” Her gaze averted down to her lap, as her hands fiddled with the napkin placed there. “And, please, it is Josephine.”

Anton startled a little bit carrying his plate to the table, but recovered quickly and sat down. “Of course, so long as it is Anton to you.”

“I believe I will drink to that.” She raised her wineglass and he delicately clinked his against it.

They ate, her sharing details of Antiva and Anton renewed his declaration to visit again there, this time removing head from his studies long enough to appreciate it as well as Josephine did.

He relayed his latest successes with his dissertation work – all thanks to her coaching, he impressed which Josephine blushed prettily at – and Dorian’s latest office antics. Anton felt a little badly using his colleague for conversational fodder, but it made Josephine laugh and Dorian would probably be pleased more than anything else to know he was being talked about.

“I believe I may have actual success in completing my dissertation within the year and then it will be just preparing to defend it to the review committee.” He sighed a bit, “I say ‘just’ as if that will be a simple task. It will likely be a committee of my peers in name only, I do not anticipate having a single advocate there.”

“None at all?” Josephine set her wineglass down on the long since cleared table. “I know you told me you had a bit of reputation for being disagreeable, but I can hardly imagine you being so infamous amongst a university of that size.”

“Ah, well yes that might be a bit of an exaggeration,” Anton cleared his throat considering his words. “It is… not necessarily that they do not like me, as much as it is that they do not know me and I fear I may fail to make an impression favourable enough to recommend me in the hearing.”

“Oh? Well, that is a simple enough problem,” Josephine clasped her hands together enthusiastically, an idiosyncrasy Anton realized she had an endearingly greater penchant for when tipsy. “You need them to know you? Then introduce yourself. And there is the perfect opportunity at the Dean’s fundraising gala next week.”

“Ah, I,” Anton fidgeted. “I was not planning on attending that event.” Vivienne and Dorian had both mentioned the gala to him months prior when it had first been announced, but Anton had written in off as useless frippery designed to make attendees feel superior for supporting the higher education system while have spent more on their own dress for the night. “I can see the logic to your suggestion, though I doubt I would be able to acquire tickets so late.”

“Nonsense!” Josephine impulsively grasped the hand he laid in the table. “I was offered a ticket with a plus one after the success of my seminar’s attendance and I insist you that accompany me.”

Anton flushed at the contact and tried not to let his discomposure show in his voice. “I… can hardly refuse if you insist.”

“Wonderful,” his heart thudded in time with the clap she gave after that. “I will send you the details later.”

Anton flexed his fingers a little wanting to forge the memory of her hand on his in his memory, then stood abruptly in embarrassment.

“I had almost forgotten,” he said turning toward a small box the counter to hide his blush. “I believe you said these were your favourite.”

“Cannelés de Bordeaux!” Josephine exclaimed, opening the box he brought over to her. “Oh, you spoil me so.”

“It is nothing for one I hold in such high regard.”

“Nothing? Spoken like a person who has clearly never tried one,” she teased and her smiled grew slightly devious. “Come let us share one.” Seeing the hesitation on his face she added, “I insist,” and Anton helplessly complied, reaching for a plate and two forks.

He could barely taste the pastry above the sweetness of her company.

Later than was strictly appropriate for two that had work the next morning, he saw her to a waiting cab.

Josephine lingered, the flush caused by the wine she had imbibed earlier still present on her cheeks, as she toyed idly with a strand of hair that escaped her elegant twist. “This was a lovely evening, Anton. I should travel to Antiva more often if this is the sort of reception I can expect on return.”

“I should hardly need the excuse to treat you, Josephine.” Her name escaped from his lips, far more reverent than appropriate, before he could halt it. “Bon soir.”

She moved quicker than he could react and suddenly her lips brushed his cheek.

“Bon soir, Anton,” Josephine breathed into his ear before gracefully climbing into the cab, that sped away before he could fully process what had happened.

 ~

Both Vivienne and Dorian were in full approval of Josephine’s scheme for him to attend the gala and hobnob with his potential review committee members.

“I feel fully compelled to tell you that I made this exact suggestion to you months prior, but did you listen? Of course not,” Dorian had griped with his usual panache. “It seems one must be in possession of a certain charming Anitvan burr in order to get you to agree to anything. I will need to remember that the next time I need a favour from you.”

Anton ignored him, refusing to dignify the inference with a response.

Dorian continued regardless. “The real question is, what will you wear? I don’t believe you have attended any of these events before and I doubt you wish to embarrass the lovely Mademoiselle Montilyet by appearing as such.”

There was truth there. Anton had always managed to skip out on these larger parties, them being far outside his comfort zone and outside, in his opinion, of his job description as well. Embarrassing Josephine was definitely something he wanted to avoid. He gritted his teeth, then asked as neutrally as he could manage, “What would you suggest then, Dorian?”

An hour later Anton regretted he had encouraged him. Orlesian fashion, or fashion in general, could be chalked up to another area he had no understanding of. Still, he had no desire to be a cause of mockery at the event, so he went to the other resource at his disposal.

“My dear, I commend you for making this choice to attend the gala. It is of both importance to the Dean, so it will elevate you when he is making decisions regarding continued employment and promotion, and an excellent opportunity to spread your name across the campus as one of significance. Now about your query about appropriate attire,” Vivienne brought her fingers to her chin in an elegant, considering gesture as she raked her eyes up and down him, assessing. “I would avoid straying too far outside your comfort zone. You’ll find there are many formal options acceptable close to your standard fare. Nothing in current fashion to be sure,” she laughed, “Though I feel that your discomfort in the more popular looks would only increase your awkwardness at the affair.”

Anton nodded along helplessly, taking in her criticisms meekly.

Vivienne smiled at the seriousness her mentee was taking her advice before handing him a card. “This is a number for a tailor I can recommend. I suggest you drop my name to have him accept such a rushed job.”

Anton took the card gratefully and promised to do so. “Thank you for the advice, Madame Vivienne. This is all far beyond my depth.”

“It is of no great consequence, my dear,” the affection in her voice betraying the words. “You will also be a reflection on to me, as your mentor. I can hardly have you as a laughingstock.”

“Nevertheless, I am indebted for your guidance.” Anton bowed.

Vivienne waved him off, before adding, “And do ask Mademoiselle Montilyet her ensemble colour, so you can coordinate your own. It is these little details that make the pair.”

 ~

Following up on her Vivienne’s council, Anton procured an appointment with the tailor and wrote Josephine about her intended attire.

_Mademoiselle Josephine,_

_I have been informed I should inquire after the colour of your garment for the gala and seek to match it._

_I confess I am rather helpless in this regard, (That seems to be reoccurring theme for many of our interactions, does it not?) but I would love to appear to as a worthy complement to yourself for the occasion._

He inquired after the address to pick her up at and the other minutiae surrounding the evening. He would need to clean his car, he considered. It was a depressingly sensible model, that would fail to impress anyone, but it would at least be tidy. The combination of thoughts surrounding his car and Josephine brought back to full clarity the memory of her kiss a few nights prior.

It was a kiss on the cheek and nothing more, he reasoned, trying not to get his hopes up in vain. Orlesians dole them about thoughtlessly all the time. Josephine may be less superficial than to be so careless with her affections, but that does not mean it was out of romantic intent. His resolve firmed on this theory. The kiss was in response to their deepening friendship and nothing further.

Yes. That he could believe.

After all, it was still quite an honour to be considered so well by such a woman.

Anton sighed an finished his e-mail with,

_Your ever indebted and ardent pupil,_

_Anton Trevelyan_

Well, if he had fretted before about exposing his regard so nakedly, then this was his love flayed, stripped down to its core where it was infused into his bones. Still, he could not compel himself change the closing salutation. Anything less would be dishonest and not pay Josephine the due she rightly deserved.

He hit send and was startled at the speed of her reply when it arrived moments later.

_My dear pupil Anton,_

_I commend who ever offered you the advice and yourself for following through with it. It had quite slipped my mind and I would also endeavour to appear well suited to as your match. My ensemble is in gold. Medium champagne gold is the colour you are best to relay if you hiring the services of a tailor which I suspect you are if my guess is correct that you were instructed to do so by Madame de Fer._

_As always I admire your candid nature, confessing your cluelessness on the issue. It takes quite the man to admit he does not know his ascots from his cravats. I am certain you will become whatever your wear… So long as you heed the advice of your mentor._

He laughed at her teasing, earning an annoyed looked from Dorian, which he ignored and read on. He would meet her a half hour prior to the event at her home, allowing them to leisurely arrive at the gala fashionably late. She had stressed the precise nature to the fashionably late timing, which he would have previously trivial, but now noted with care.

_We must appear unrushed and well put together, arriving moments after the bulk of the crowd. When you are too early, you are perceived as overeager and self-serving, while those who arrive late are seen as above the whole affair. Arriving fashionably late underscores your importance while still appearing invested in the evening._

_Please do not hesitate to ask me anything else about the evening. I hope to assail any worries you may have entering. You may even enjoy yourself._

_Your wholly flattered and devoted counsel,_

_Josephine Montilyet_

Could Dorian see his flush at those words? Probably. Damn it, Anton cursed mentally and, swallowing down the concern at appearing overeager, he typed his reply.

_My effusively helpful counsel Josephine,_

_Thank you for replying so promptly, I am sure you will put the tailor’s mind at ease. (yes, you were correct in your assumption.)_

_I should be offended here, I think. I know the difference between the two. One is a style of necktie and the other is puffy style of necktie. One is probably in fashion at the moment and the other is likely decidedly not. I could not be prevailed upon to tell you which, but I think I deserve some credit for that much knowledge._

_Enjoying myself may be overstating it, but I cannot deny I look forward to seeing you in your gold ensemble. You deserve a colour so radiant as yourself._

_Your_

His cursor idled as Anton considered what further devotions he could offer her and then he wrote simply and sent,

_Yours,_

_Anton Trevelyan_

 ~

It was difficult to pinpoint the moment when Dorian and Vivienne’s continued instructions on etiquette from the gala transferred from serving to minimize his anxieties to tremendously annoying and only serving to remind Anton why he avoided these gatherings to begin with. Josephine remained helpful and calming all the while and he was glad she would be by his side that night.

He arrived promptly at their agreed time, taking to heart her words on timing, and parking his car at the curb in front of a classically Orlesian styled house, albeit slightly more modestly than the grander buildings. He rapped using the ornate knocker and when Josephine opened the door moments later, his mouth went dry.

She was resplendent in a golden gown that twisted high around her neck and hugged her body closely until just below her hips where it fell in tiered ruffled layers to the ground. She wore golden silk gloves that went all the way up her arms to where the short puffed sleeves of the gown ended. Her hair was pulled slightly higher than normal in a twist atop her head, rather than at the nape where she typically wore it, and a gold ribbon had been woven artfully through.

Anton realized belatedly he was staring and hastily fell into a bow.

“Mademoiselle Montilyet, you take my breath away. You do your ensemble credit, by allowing such a vision to wear it.”

Still bowed deeply, he heard rather than saw her curtsy. “You are simply too much, Anton. I would accuse you of flattering me, if I didn’t know that you are honest to a fault. Instead I must simply believe you to be too unused to the sight of one dressed to attend such an evening” Her chiding was light, without any real force behind it. “And I have told you before, it is Josephine.”

Anton straightened from his bow then nodded and offered his arm to her. He was grateful for the gesture when she took it, drawing in closer to him as they walked down the short distance to the car together. Josephine’s choice of footwear for the evening made her just a bit unsteady on the uneven ground, he realized when she gripped his arm a fraction harder and leaned into his side for support. The height the shoes offered brought her face even closer to his than normal and he flushed slightly at the thoughts that closeness inspired.

Anton attempted quash those thoughts and the nervousness they created, continuing to offer Josephine support until they reached the car and he opened the door for her, not fully releasing her hand until he had helped her in.

Anton assumed he was imagining the charged tension in the air as he pulled his car back out onto the road and began the drive to the Dean’s estate, the Winter Palace.

Josephine finally spoke after the silence held for few minutes longer than was comfortable. “In my flustered state after hearing your praise, I realize I forgot to offer it in kind.” She paused, smoothing her skirt, “You look quite dashing tonight, Anton. I especially enjoy the cravat.” Her hand reached over to straighten the necktie at his throat, dyed in the same gold of her dress.

Anton cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to keep his eyes fixed forward on the road. “Yes, well, I told you I knew the difference between the two and I can hardly take credit for,” he lifted one hand from the steering wheel briefly to gesture at his attire, a rather unremarkable, though timeless dark grey suit, “the rest. It was all the work of a very well paid tailor. All I did was try not to get stuck by too many pins.”

Josephine giggled, “Did you not just say my outfit was enhanced by the wearer? I think I can truthfully apply the same compliment to you.”

“Ah but you know me to be honest to a fault, where as I know you to be able to bend the truth to charm the sun from the sky.”

“The truth is still the truth even when bent, my dear pupil.”

“I shall take note of that, my esteemed counsel.”

_~_

The gala was everything Anton feared. It was zoo of bustling important somebodies rushing about to ostentatiously air kiss the next important somebody, barely pausing to breathe let alone sip delicately at their champagne or nibble at the ornate hors d’oeuvres that the Elvhen waitstaff expertly circled about. He scarcely knew where look or who to speak to or how he had ended up with a glass of champagne in his hand, but with Josephine at his side it was somehow all bearable.

She expertly navigated him about the palace, directing him to all the worthwhile connections. People that Anton found himself surprisingly enjoying conversation with, particularly when Josephine skillfully guided the conversation to topics of shared interest that Anton knew he could have never managed alone.

Once the early milling about period – “Cocktail hour” he could practically hear Josephine correcting – ended and dinner was called they were herded up from the vestibule and adjoining rooms into the upper floor of the elaborate ballroom. The balcony style floor had tables arranged so the dinner would be served here and the lower floor which they looked down upon would be open later for dancing.  Once seated at their assigned table, Josephine introduced herself and everyone at the table, using her wit to charm them and giving Anton the perfect moments to share his own anecdotes. It only took him one swift kick to his ankles to follow her lead and eventually it came more naturally to him. He was charming thanks to her and he had never admired her skill so greatly.

The speeches midway through the meal from the Dean and several other important faculty members seemed on the rote side to Anton, despite his limited experience with these occasions, but he listened with as rapt attention as he could muster to keep from causing Josephine any humiliation.

The grandiose attempts at willing more donations from the attendees’ pockets continued well on into the serving of the final course, an individual pot de crème and serving of coffee, and on their completion the guests began to mill about again, greeting acquaintances seated at other tables.

“Come,” Josephine said, taking his arm. “You said your colleague Dorian is at the gala. I simply must meet him after all the stories you’ve told me.”

Anton diligently led her about until he located the table Dorian sat in conversation with a man he knew only vaguely from observing at the University. Dorian was leaning in closely, obviously intent upon their topic, but straightened abruptly when he heard Anton’s greeting, jerking his hand away from where it had sat closely to his companion’s.

“I apologize for interrupting your discourse, I only wished to introduce you to my accompaniment for the evening,” Anton offered, genuinely abashed that he had disrupted them. “May I present the Mademoiselle Josephine Montilyet, Mademoiselle Josephine this is my colleague Monsieur Dorian Pavus.”

“Formerly on Minrathous, currently of the dismal shared office space of you escort,” Dorian finished neatly, rising to his feet and offering a lofty bow. “A great pleasure to finally put a face to the one responsible for reducing my esteemed colleague into a blushing schoolboy.” He gestured to the man he had conferring with before the interruption, “And this is Monsieur Rilienus Vidales, one of my fellow countrymen that I have found here similarly wasting away in this frigid nation. Rilienus, Anton,” Dorian finished with the introduction with his usual flourish, albeit hurried, as he rushed off, making the excuse he was after another champagne. Rilienus returned the pleasantries then followed after Dorian quickly, leaving Anton and Josephine alone and mildly bemused at their hasty exit.

“Well, I cannot argue that he is indeed a character,” Josephine finally said diplomatically.

“That is one manner of description,” Anton replied, with less tact.

Josephine smiled and opened her mouth to correct him when the bell signifying the start of the dancing. She smiled wistfully as the band which had been playing light string music throughout most of the evening, save during the speeches, took up in earnest. She swayed faintly in time to the music and before Anton could evaluate whether or not it was good idea he outstretched his hand.

“Would you care to dance with me, Mademoiselle Josephine?’

“I,” she paused and he dared not raise his bowed head to look at her, “Would love to, monsieur.”

Anton’s heart leapt up to his throat as she took his arm and he led them down the ballroom steps to the dance floor. Offering a belated, but fervent mental thank you to his sister for her obsession with royal balls when they were younger and her insistence he practice the steps to all the dances with her, he took Josephine’s gloved left hand in his own and place his right hand at the small of her back.

She was unsurprisingly graceful and fell into the steps with ease, making Anton’s job leading easier, thought he redoubled his gratefulness to Briony, as it appeared most of her dance lessons had stuck.

It seemed a shame when the waltz number ended leading into a more complicated Orlesian routine, the sort with dips and bows and the possibility of an incorrect hand gesture beginning a civil war. Josephine seemed to sense his conflict and made move to exit the dance floor, but Anton strengthened his grip upon her hand.

“Could I entreat one more dance from you, Mademoiselle?” this time he met her gaze until he felt her resistance soften.

“You may, though I hope you are more familiar with this arrangement than I. I will be dependent upon your lead.”

Buoyed by his success with the waltz, Anton nodded and they took their place amongst the other courageous pairs.

Once the starting note hit Anton fluidly moved through the steps he’d had ingrained in the back of his mind, trying to keep awareness on his feet to avoid tripping during the quicker movements and on Josephine to catch all of her expressions as they moved together. She enraptured him. Her intelligent gaze, the crease of concentration in her brow, and the smiles of delight he felt his own heart quicken at.

Time stood still for an instant as he dipped her low at the instrumental climax; her back arched gracefully, his arm strong around her waist, supporting her and holding their bodies closer than before. He could feel her chest rising against his own, breathing heavier from the exertion of the dance, and he could nearly feel her heartbeat thudding as wildly as his own. The moment broke, however, when their move achieved applause from a few of the onlookers. He could see a blush spread across her cheeks at the attention; one that remained even as they completed the final maneuvers at the song’s close.

Taking his arm again, Josephine walked with him back up the ballroom stairs. “I think you may be the talk of the evening after that display.” She laughed lightly, “You should dance more often.”

“It is relief to do something other than the endless small talk, “ he joked and then caught himself. “Ah, not that I have found conversing at this event so painful. Entirely your doing, I suspect.”

“I did warn you that you might enjoy yourself this evening.”

“How could I have ever doubted your counsel, after its continued success?” Anton smiled at her fondly as they reached the second floor and he briefly felt at a bit of a loss when a familiar grand figure approached them.

“Darling,” Vivienne inclined head down to air kiss both of his cheeks, “And Mademoiselle Montilyet,” she repeated the gesture to Josephine. “It has been too long.”

“You both are acquainted with my consort Duke Bastien?” she asked in a tone that implied no answer was necessary, placing her hand upon the arm of the man at her side.

Anton and Josephine offered a bow and curtsy respectively in greeting as the Duke nodded his head in kind.

“My dear Anton, I am quite amazed you withheld such a proficiency from me. Had I known your skill as a dancer I might have insisted you accompany me tonight rather than the Duke.”

The Duke gave a full good natured laugh at that. “I am afraid my age has limited my own nimbleness on the dance floor.”

Vivienne offered him a warm look before turning back to Josephine and Anton. “I wondered if I might borrow your escort for a moment, Mademoiselle Montilyet. A work matter of some urgency has arisen that I hope to resolve quickly. I promise not to occupy his attentions long.” She turned to the Duke again, “Dear Bastien, would take the Mademoiselle on another turn around the dance floor? I believe this is a number even you, with your reduced nimbleness, can manage.”

The Duke obediently offered his hand to Josephine with a soft “Demoiselle?” that she accepted, shooting a curious look at Anton.

“I promise, we shall hardly take longer than the song,” Vivienne said as they were steered apart, Josephine led back down the steps and Anton to a deserted outdoor balcony.

Once they were far enough from the crowd Vivienne started, “I really cannot offer you enough praise for your performance this evening and I am not solely referring to your lightness of foot. When, I first suggested your attendance at Mademoiselle Montilyet’s seminar, I hardly suspect the aptitude with which you would take to it. Still,” she pressed on past his murmured thanks, “I feel I must confer with some haste a curious rumour I heard spreading about your companion.”

Anton opened his mouth to object to hearing any slander against Josephine, but halted when Vivienne raise a hand to still him.

“I understand your opinion on the vulgarity of engaging in such gossip, but feel obliged remind you that often, beneath the extravagant embellishments, these things are rooted in truth. It concerns her prior connection with an Antivan nobleman, Adorno Ciel Otranto. Apparently the pair was affianced to be married until the engagement was broken not long ago. Approximately a fortnight before tonight, if the rumour mill is to be believed, and it is scandalously short time for her to be breaking such longstanding agreement and then appearing on your arm so publically tonight.”

“That is quite the fiction, Vivienne,” Anton said, though his mind was already racing at the possibilities. Had Josephine returned to Antiva to break her engagement? He had thought she had told him in great detail about her trip, but realized all of her stories had reflected on her nostalgia of the country, rather than what she had actually been doing there. Why would she have broken her engagement and never spoken to him of it?

Vivienne, observing his doubt, continued, “I am particularly concerned at this supposed timeline given that I know your connection to Josephine precedes this evening and her alleged severing of ties. It will not be long before others are aware of this fact as well. Tonight she is in question for entering a relationship too hastily, next week you will be decried for causing the dissolution of a match intended to unite families. It will not be pretty, Anton.”

Anton could barely comprehend the situation once she finished and looked at Vivienne bewildered. “Wh-what am I supposed to do?”

She looked away, towards the stars appearing in the sky. “I cannot make this decision for you, my dear, though the safest path would be to begin distancing yourself from the Mademoiselle immediately, tonight even; converse with different parties, dance with other partners – you should no shortage of willing partners now. That way the connection will be made more tenuous and the damage will be lessened.”

“Could I not just explain that our connection is not a romantic one?” Anton felt a cold heaviness settling into his stomach.

“I hardly think they would believe that, my dear.” Her eyes swiveled back to him, sympathetic. “Not from one who is so obviously in love.”

He had been found out, it seemed, but that hardly mattered now. Anton balled his hands into fists, “But it is the truth,” he said stressed. “Regardless of my feelings, Josephine and I are not romantically entangled and will never be. She is leagues beyond my reach for such a match to ever come to fruition. I would just as easily attempt to pluck one of the stars from the sky. Indeed I,” he coughed, attempting to clear the sudden tightness in his throat. “I have never hoped nor expected that outcome. Josephine could never return my regard in kind; her affection is of friendship and counsel, nothing more.”

“Monsieur Trevelyan,” Josephine’s voice jolted him from his melancholy diatribe. He had not heard her approach the balcony. “You were gone for some time. I thought it best to collect you. I believe Duke Bastien was headed towards the refreshments, Madame de Fer,” she directed to Vivienne.

“Thank you, dear. I apologize for monopolizing so much of your escort’s time tonight.  I shall take my leave now to seek Bastien out. I hope you both enjoy the remainder of the evening.” Vivienne returned to the fray of the ballroom with long strides.

Josephine waited till they were quite alone, making no move to proceed any closer to him. “I hope all is well with your work matter. Nothing to spoil your evening, I trust?”

It took Anton a moment to understand what she was referring to. “Hm, yes, do not concern yourself, Josephine. It is of no consequence.” He offered his arm to her again. “Should we return to the lion’s den?”

Josephine did not take his arm, however. “Regretfully, I am not feeling so well as to linger here much longer. Too much champagne, I believe.”

“I will fetch the car right away then. I’ll see you home as soon as possible.” Anton moved to exit the balcony but Josephine stalled him with a light hand barely touching his wrist.

“There is no need. I have already called myself a cab. You should remain and reap the rewards of your performance this evening.”

Anton opened his mouth to argue.

“Please,” she entreated, “stay.”

“If, if that is what you want, I will,” he conceded.

Josephine gave wan smile. “It is, Monsieur Trevelyan. Bon soir.” She gave him a final curtsy before gliding away.

Anton had barely a moment to wonder if he had made the correct choice in remaining when he was surrounded again by the bourgeoisie crowd. Vivienne had been correct in her assertion that he would be a popular target for offers to dance, though he turned them all down. Still he conversed politely enough with the other guests, vowing not to waste all of Josephine’s efforts. He felt he did credibly, especially considering he mind was still preoccupied with concern for Josephine’s health and confusion over the speculation Vivienne had confided in him.

As such, it went by in a blur until it was an acceptable time for his own exit, which he wasted no time in making quickly thereafter.

The clack of his formal shoes echoed loudly in the quiet of his apartment on his return; joined by the clink of his key dropped into the bowl by his front door. Anton wearily slumped into his armchair and kicked off his shoes in rare act of disorderliness. After a few minutes passed he rose with a sigh and went about readying himself for bed. Before retiring entirely for the night he sent a short missive to Josephine to inquire after her wellbeing, trying to ease his mind from the worries bouncing about in it. Without anything else to be done at present he switched the light off and settled down for sleep.

Despite his exhaustion, it did not come easily.

 ~

_Monsieur Trevelyan,_

_I thank you for your concern over my health, though it is without reason. As I said before, it was merely an overindulgence in champagne causing my discomfort._

_From all accounts I have heard you performed quite well for yourself even after my departure. Perhaps you have even outgrown my counsel._

_I wish you well._

_Josephine Montilyet_

The message had been sitting in his inbox when he woke the next morning, though the prompt reply did little to quell his fears given the obvious curtness of tone.

It was possible she was still unwell and had not the energy for a more engaging message or was in a hurry, but still wished to address his concerns. Still, Anton couldn’t stop the uneasiness from coiling in his stomach.

It would be excessive to send her another message, he reasoned, with this one brokering no rejoinder and he resolutely closed his email browser, turning back to the ever present mountain of department work waiting for him.

The rest of his weekend passed much the same. He worked through his distraction and heard no further word from Josephine.

On Sunday he received a short message from Vivienne which he read with an odd mix of relief and aggravation. She had received news from her connections that the rumours surrounding Josephine’s broken betrothal and subsequent improper conduct had been alieved by her former intended, the Lord Otranto himself. He had responded to the rumour mongers that the engagement had been dissolved amicably by both parties due to their own romantic indifference to one another and that the ties been the families remained as strong as ever.

_I apologize for alarming you with this matter two nights prior at the gala. It was from a desire to protect you and your ambitions, my dear. I confess I see a great potential in you and would have hated to see that potential drowned under the weight of a scandal._

_Nevertheless, I regret if my warning caused any friction between you and Mademoiselle Montilyet. I assure you I am in favour of your suit towards her now that this matter has been concluded. Please let me know if there are reparations required that I may assist with._

_Cordially,_

_Madame Vivienne de Fer_

He felt relief at the fact that Josephine was freed from the rumours and at the implication that her engagement did not appear to be one of romantic inclinations, even if he was wounded to realize he had never known of it prior.

The aggravation came from the fact that he realized Vivienne had correctly identified the likely reason to Josephine’s recent coolness and silence. She had either heard their conversation directly at the ball or whisperings of it after the fact and had likely assumed him among those that would decry her for her private affairs. In both cases then, she had probably only heard a half account of what had occurred.

Anton would clarify the whole matter for her then. He would lay everything he heard bare and truthfully share his own thoughts and reaction. It would not be entirely flattering for him he knew, but it would be honest and allow Josephine to make a fair judgement on him and whether or not he deserved her continued friendship. He also selfishly hoped that she might clarify the details of her engagement in kind. He did believe that the betrothal was political and not out of love, but he still wanted to hear the words from her lips.

He shook his head at that line of egoism and mentally rehearsed the full account of his conversation with Vivienne. Josephine was teaching another seminar the coming week and he wanted to be prepared to speak with her after. He had to make her understand.

 ~

“Mademois-“

“I apologize, Monsieur, I have another appointment I need to get to.”

“If I could just speak with a you mo-“

“Another time. Au revoir.”

 ~

It had not gone well. He had waited outside her seminar, not wanting to unnerve her with his presence in the lecture, to address her afterward. Josephine had cut him off with aplomb that offered no rebuke and was gone before he could collect himself to follow. Crushing, but admirable was her ability to reproach one so thoroughly without a single harsh word or unkind tone.

That was it, Anton supposed. He had lost her friendship in one fell swoop and felt the loss acutely. It was his fault of course, his own indecision in that important moment; a test of his regard for Josephine over his own professional aspirations that he had failed by hesitating.

It was hard for him to go on in his day to day beyond the perfunctory. Fortunately enough, he had not run into his new contacts made at the Winter Palace, he surely would have alienated the connection with his current dark mood, and only his usual colleagues were subjected to him.

Unsurprisingly Dorian was the first to crack.

“It truly speaks to how insufferable you are being, Anton, if I preferred you giddy to,” he pointed to Anton, morosely hunched over a tome, “whatever this is. If I hear yet another despairing sigh from you, I swear I will have to take a drastic action.”

“Sorry,” Anton intoned inflectionless.

Dorian made a frustrated noise and pointed at him with force. “See that, that is what I mean. You should tell me to mind mine own and recommence my work, to remove my nose from your life and return it to a book. You are a shell of your aggravating self and I won’t have it any longer.”

“Dorian, I-”

“No, I will not hear such weak-willed justifications from you. I refuse to argue with one whose heart is not in it, so I recommend you see to recovering that heart of yours.”

Anton hung his head, abandoning pretense. “She won’t see me.”

“No? Well that seems like an obstacle small enough for you to overcome. You did spend the entire time courting her from behind that laptop after all.”

“It wasn’t courting,” Anton argued weakly.

Dorian waved away his protest. “Write her a great missive bowing and scraping for the offense and declaring your love and stop filling the office with your brooding. She will come round surely enough; one can’t help, but take pity on such a pathetic creature as yourself.”

That… made sense to Anton.  He would be able to explain the entire situation fully in a message without interruption or losing his nerve. He hoped.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Dorian, I may heed it.”

“Of course you will. Recall my warning of drastic action. It was not a jest.”

Anton gave him a faint smile. “I never doubted it was. I appreciate your advice and I want you to know that as one I respect, as a friend, you needn’t hide part of yourself from me,” he said alluding to what had occurred between them at the gala, which they hadn’t spoken of since. “I do not mean to pry into your affairs or strip you of your privacy, just know that it would not lessen that respect.”

Dorian looked caught uncharacteristically off-guard and gaped for a few seconds before responding. “I shall remember that the next time you complain to me about my endless chatter,” he paused, “my friend.”

Both men recovered from the display of emotion by returning to their own occupations, Dorian his tome on dimension disruption and Anton to his email browser as he began to type.

 ~

_Dear Josephine,_

_I apologize if my allowance to dispense of your given name so freely is now revoked. I confess I am unwilling to let it go, but a word from you will keep from indulging in the liberty again. I would not begrudge you for this; I fear I have given you cause to believe that I did not value you or your friendship as highly as either deserves. I would like to assure you this is not the case, though that is not the full truth. If I may reveal that truth to you please read on. You are under no obligation to offer me this, or even so much as the time of day, but I hope that you will._

_Firstly, I have never met one so enchanting and admirable in all my life. You strike with armed with wit and charm so skillfully; I can do nothing but watch on in awe. It has always seemed to me nothing short of incredible luck that you would grace such a hapless person as I with your time and friendship. This should be enough for me, but I am greedy with your attentions and my regard has grown so greatly for you beyond the bounds of friendship. A foolish notion, I understand, as you are in a class far above what I could hope to reach._

_This confession is not delivered with expectation of return of affections, but is offered to further clarify what happened at the gala._

_I suspect you may have overheard some of my conversation with Vivienne and I wanted to provide you with the full account and context for what you already know. Vivienne had pulled me aside to confide a rumour that had been circulating about you that night; a rumour about the end of engagement between yourself and Lord Adorno Ciel Otranto. The tongues were wagging that the affair had been ended by you too suddenly for you to be appearing in society with me. Vivienne further worried that it would be later speculated that our relationship was responsible for the break up._

_I would like to say that my only concern was for you and that my presence in your life, however innocent, would harm your reputation and it was heavy on my mind. A lingering part of me, however, felt fear over the potential hindrance to my own career, felt jealousy at the engagement I had not known of, felt defeated at the prospect of amorous rumours surrounding yourself and I that I knew were untrue. I am ashamed that my first my words in response to the rumour were those of self-preservation. I cannot take back that immediate reaction, though I wish I could. Hang my jealousy and hang my career, if I can have you in my life again._

_I did not have an opportunity to find out what my actions beyond that first instance would have been though. You likely know – I would be surprised if your hand was not in the resolution – that the speculation ended without any major harm inflicted. I want to believe that I would have stood by you and proved that I can be as steadfast as you once called me if it had not been settled so cleanly. I will never know this in certainty, though I can vow to be that for you in the future._

_I entreat you to allow me to uphold that vow._

_I want to be a better man for you, Josephine. One that could hope to deserve you in whatever form you were willing to give._

_I will await, though not expect a reply. Hope, it seems, is hard to tame when it comes to you._

_Yours in sincerity and contrition,_

_Anton Trevelyan._

He sent it before he could lose his nerve, rubbing a hand through his hair. It was all he could have said; his final, desperate plea to her. Now he had to wait for an answer that might never come. It was hard to decide which torment was worse: the despondent emptiness he had felt earlier or the small insistent sprig of hope he now nursed.

He would wait.

 ~

Evening came and Anton remained at his desk. He was working, strictly speaking, but it was apparent to anyone that that was not why he remained so late. Dorian had left a few hours earlier with a pitying look.

Anton tried not to let it affect him that Dorian already believed his cause lost and kept to his task.

When he was no longer able to justify staying at the office any longer he packed up his belongings resigned. A tired glance around the office offered no comfort and he turned off the light.

He did not relish returning to his apartment where he knew he would spend the night tossing and turning, and so he kept his low and exiting the office to the hallway. Then he saw her.

Josephine was pacing the hallway, wringing her hands distractedly, when she saw him, the noise of his office door closing echoing in the deserted building. Her eyes darted to the nearest stairwell, apparently considering an escape, but flicked back to him and she resolutely took a step towards him.

“Monsieur Trevelyan, I-” she started and stopped, seemingly at a rare loss for words. “I received your message and I have been trying to find my answer. It is not coming easily to me with my thoughts as muddled as they are, but it is obvious to me that I owe you an explanation in return. I hope you will offer me the same courtesy and listen to it in full.”

Anton nodded quickly and gestured to the wooden bench in the hall.

Josephine shook her. “I would prefer to stand, I think. This is… difficult for me to speak of and I need all to draw on all of the reserves of strength I possess. To clarify the rumour first, I was engaged at young age to Lord Otranto, a childhood friend of mine. It was political, but amiable. We felt no passion for one another, but appreciated each other’s company well enough. Neither of us felt pressed to solidify the connection through marriage in any haste and we proceeded to live our lives so separately, I found myself forgetting the promise,” she paused, “Particularly when I met you. You intrigued me at first; your honesty presented without artifice was a welcome change for me who deals in the game of trading favours and connections. I treasured the correspondence we shared and I suddenly I knew that the bond I shared with Adorno would never be enough in comparison. I did break the betrothal, with his blessing, when I visited Antiva, not for you, but for the hope of what could be. You see, you do not know the truth of me.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes before continuing. “I do not feel affection or attraction like others. I am without the fires of passion for the flesh or lust. Such acts do not repulse me, but I have no interest in them, like I should. Adorno knew this and accepted it, but I did not know if I could ask the same of you. So, you see it was not the speculation that caused my upset but your own words on the night of the gala; that I could never return your love in kind. It served to remind me of my truth. And yet, to use your own words, hope is something I cannot tame where you are concerned.”

 She bowed her head hand folded delicately in front of her, waiting for his reaction

Anton did not hesitate. He strode towards her and captured her hand in his gently, bringing to just shy of his lips before pausing. “Is this okay?” he asked, voice raw with emotion and intent unmistakeable.

Wordlessly Josephine nodded and he laid a soft kiss between the knuckles of her first and second fingers.

“I love you, Josephine, and you returning that sentiment is all that I need.”

He released her hand after a beat and a hopeful squeeze and Josephine drew it back to herself for barely a moment before throwing her arms around his neck. Her toes rising from the ground, as he lifted her with steady arms around her waist and gave her a quick twirl before setting her down still in his arms.

“Say it again,” she whispered into his ear. “Please, say you love me again, Anton.”

“I love you. I love you. Je t’aime, Josephine,” Anton obliged, each recitation a reverent vow.

“Te amo, Anton. I love you too.” She sounded about to break with emotion and did letting out a breathless laugh. “I did not expect- I could not have imagined it for a moment despite all of my fervent wishes for it.”

“Nor I,” he confessed. “I feel as if there has been a rather lot of that going around in our relationship. I intend to make up for that wasted time, if I may be so bold”

Josephine turned her head slightly into his shoulder and he felt her smile. “I insist on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> And there you have it.  
> Criticism is appreciated since I haven't written anything along these lines in years and only had myself to edit, but please be kind since I am a fragile marshmallow.
> 
> Next up is Briony who is a much less stuffy person that sounds distinctly less Austen-y.  
> If your interested in learning more about my Trevs, check out [my tumblr.](http://flaminhotcheetobeard.tumblr.com/)


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